Like the forest, with all its mystery and deafening silence, I thrive. I like to keep myself beneath the facade of the acceptable. I like to keep it that way. Besides it is the only thing left.
Going uphill exhausts and consumes me, nearly taking all the essence. Then I ask myself ‘when will this end?’ Opening the door to my office, I sighed. I used to have the ardor of knowing the littlest detail and finding a way to make everything work in harmony. But now, all I think about is how to survive the day at work.
I prayed for enlightenment. Scouring the dusty forgotten storage, I think of years ahead. But right this moment, I have one thing certain. It’s time for me to write again.
about the rain 